For You Served Heaven
by betweenthetwo
Summary: When Shacklebolt requests a volunteer to question Snape in Azkaban, Hermione surprises herself by volunteering. What transpires surprises them all… HBP spoilers, eventual HGSS.
1. Le meurtier

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Visiting Hours

**Rating: PG-13**

**Summary: When Shacklebolt requests a volunteer to question Snape in Azkaban, Hermione surprises herself by volunteering. What transpires surprises them all… HBP spoilers, eventual HGSS.**

**Disclaimer: JK owns everything you recognise. I own the rest.**

**Author's Notes: Have some patience if at first the storyline seems farfetched… all will be revealed in good time. Rating is purely for a bit of cursing (tiny). Sorry I still can't get out of the habit of the old ratings!**

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He was sick of the walls.

He laughed sardonically at what had become of his once sharp mind. Reduced to becoming bored with the stone structures that surrounded him, reduced to laughing to himself in the darkness. No less than he deserved. No more than he had expected.

But despite being utterly deserving of that abstract boredom, that totally desolate excuse for existence, he would have killed for a book. Not even a book. One poem. One potions article. One passage from Dante or Plato. One minute of intelligent conversation with anyone of an incisive mind.

It wasn't to be. There were no small luxuries allowed to prisoners of Azkaban, particularly not to the likes of him. Not to betrayers. Not to spies or double agents. Not to murderers.

Not to Severus Snape.

So he stared at the walls a little longer, and convinced himself that perhaps he could come to like them over time. He had only been in the cell thirteen months, and he knew from experience that it usually took him a long time to feel any sort of fondness for anything. Years, often.

Of course, by the time he found himself fond of the walls, he would be long past coherent thought, he mused. He laughed again.

* * *

She was losing her mind. 

She must be. Why, why, would she volunteer to be the one to visit him? Why would she put herself through the inevitable angst and resurgence of grief?

In all honesty, she knew why, and it had nothing to do with insanity. It was simple curiosity, and it was the need to find some closure on an event that had shaped all their lives. She needed to know _why_ he did it. Not to understand, she would never understand, but to at least figure out his motive behind it. There had to be a reason he blew his cover then, a reason he chose _that moment _out of so many.

So when Kingsley Shacklebolt had requested a volunteer to question Snape, she offered to be the one. Harry refused to speak to her since- no surprise, no real difference to usual- and Ron had been looking oddly pensive since. She wasn't used to seeing the youngest Weasley male looking so decidedly insightful. It was almost disconcerting.

As she crunched up the gravel path to the prison, with Aurors flanking her on either side, she wondered how even hatred could drive someone to this place. She realised she had _chosen_ to come here, and was one again furious with herself.

"Miss Granger?"

The formality dragged her out of her reverie.

"You must go in alone from here." The Auror… possibly Green?… told her.

"Of course. Thank you."

She knew he was lying. Shacklebolt told her they'd take her all the way into the second level, not stop at the first gate. Sodding Hufflepuffs the lot of them. They turned and left her alone, in front of the hugely oppressive gates. A small part of her wondered if Salazar Slytherin had any say in the design of the place… it seemed his style. Pushing those thoughts to the back of her mind- she will consult her library later- she forced a smile onto her face as a guard approached.

"Name?"

"Hermione Jane Granger."

"What is your business here?"

"I have been sent to interview a… an occupant."

"By whom?"

"Kingsley Shacklebolt, under direct orders from the Minister for Magic."

The guard said nothing but the gates slowly opened with a deafening clang. She took a long, deep breath, and stepped into the grounds of the prison. There was a distinct chill in the air.

"Follow me."

She did.

* * *

"Well Snape, it seems you are to have a visitor." His guard intoned from the half light. "Get up." 

Used to orders at this stage of his life, he responded without complaint or hesitation. It was easier that way.

"Pretty young thing too… your lucky day, eh?" This guard… possibly Craven?… had always been rather… _chatty_. Knowing better than to expect a response, the guard opened the door and motioned for Severus to follow him.

He did.

The air in the interrogation room was as biting as it was outside. Hermione briefly wondered that the… occupants… don't all suffer from arthritis. Harry would tell her they deserve it. She sighed… Harry… it shouldn't have come to _this_.

The door opens, and a surprisingly cheerful guard led Professor Severus Snape into the room. He nodded to Hermione and left her alone with her former Potions Professor. For a moment, Hermione was breathless. It was surreal. They looked at each other in silence for a moment. He was smirking, she was trembling slightly.

He had killed Professor Dumbledore.

"Draco?" He asked.

For a moment she wondered if he had lost his mind- so quickly- and had mistaken her for the blond Slytherin. For a moment she was slighted. She was a woman, dammit! Look at her new shoes, her skirt, her long eyelashes!

Reason conquered her brief madness. He knew exactly who she was. He would never have greeted Draco Malfoy with that smirk.

"Dead." She lied. "Harry killed him."

That is what she was ordered to say. That was her advantage. Her secret, her hidden triumph. _Yes_ she thought _I can do this_. Her lie mocked him _I know and I am deceiving you _it says in the cold air of the cell. Her believed her, he had no choice. She was winning already. Ron was wrong, she _was_ good at this.

_She's lying _he thought. He was sure of it, but he would not challenge her on it. He would play with her for a while. It could be entertaining, if she was as righteous as he remembered.

"When?" He asked. If she was to lie to him, let her do it spectacularly. He was interested to see what story the Order had concocted to win his sympathy.

"Six weeks ago."

"Where?"

"Malfoy Manor."

_LIES_ he raged inwardly _FOOLS_. How did they expect to win a war when they could not even master deception? Gryffindors the lot of them.

"Why?"

"Because he could. Because that is who Harry has become." _Because that is who you made him_, she added a silent afterthought.

Well now, that was certainly unexpected. Perhaps he would call her bluff.

"Draco Malfoy is alive and a member of the Order of the Phoenix, Miss Granger. I can assure you of that. Tell me this, who has Potter killed then? Your sentiments are valid, if your facts are not."

She was thrown. He could see it, sense it, _feel_ it. It was exhilarating. That power, that rush. He had missed it. He was glad she had come, even if he could think of a thousand better candidates. Or maybe he couldn't. Maybe she was perfect. So naïve. So virtuous. So full of Gryffindor goodness.

She had failed, she knew. She hated failure. She should have just walked out. She was going to… No, she could not. Shacklebolt's mission was destroyed, her own was not. She would be honest with him. Then she could ask for the same in return.

"Remus Lupin."

That was not what he was expecting. Pettigrew, Macnair, Lestrange… but not Lupin. Not a member of the Order. Not then, not so close to the end.

"He just… Remus argued with him. Harry… he's been unstable since… Remus defended you, said he couldn't condone Harry's plea for execution, that he didn't believe you would kill Dumbledore in cold blood."

"And Potter killed him?"

She nodded, her whole body radiating hopelessness, despair. She reminded him of a Hufflepuff. She reminded him of too much. He wanted her gone. Out. Vanished. Anywhere but where she was, polluting his air with her sentimentality, with her Gryffindor sorrow.

"I see now why you are here. You need someone to hold accountable. You may blame me. I killed him, if that is what this is about Miss Granger. Potter is the way he is today because of me. All the worlds pain and anguish lies at my feet. I am darker than the Dark Lord himself" He said, deadpan. "There. Now may I return to my cell or does your ineffable curiosity desire more from me?"

"Professor Snape, I…"

"I am not your Professor, nor anyone else's. You may call me number 6657 if you wish, that is what everyone else does around here."

She was shaken. By his hopelessness, his despair. He reminded her of Harry. He reminded her of too much. She wanted to get out. To leave. To escape. To be anywhere but there, with his vile guilt polluting her mind, his bitterness clawing at her.

"Remus Lupin's death was not your fault." She told him. "Although for you it may seem an added bonus. Did you know, sir? Did you foresee the affect it would have? Did you know that by killing the Headmaster you would slowly kill Harry too? Kill our chances? Or was it just a lucky coincidence?"

He had never seen her like that. So vivid, so desperate. It was interesting, fascinating. Things must have been really be dire for the Order, he realised, if they were sending untrained former students of his to question him. Not that she had done anything of the sort… her sentimentality wouldn't allow it, her emotions saw that it was him who acquired the information.

He was sad to see her anger dissipate, her self control take over. _What a pity. She was just becoming tolerable._

"Why did you kill him?" She asked.

He was thrown by her question. That hadn't been the line of questioning at all…

"He asked me to." He replied. He had no idea why he was being honest then, there, with her of all people.

"I don't believe you… why would he do that?"

"He was already dying… the liquid he drank while searching for the Horcrux with Potter. It was poison. He knew it."

"And how did you know?"

He could not tell if she believed him or not.

"We had discussed it. He knew what was going to happen, he ordered me to do it. It didn't help of course that I'd made an Unbreakable Vow to Narcissa Malfoy that I'd kill him if Draco could not."

"Draco hates you."

"I would imagine so."

"I hate you."

"Of course you do Miss Granger. I killed Albus, did I not? I killed your hero. Potter's mentor, the wizarding world's good old Grandfather. And on a personal level, I made your life miserable for the six years you were under my tutelage. I taunted you, refused to acknowledge you, and I insulted your intelligence, your ability, and I believe, your appearance. I presume that is why you have made an extra effort today? New shoes? Your best skirt? Muggle make-up?"

_Wonderful_, he thought _that fury had risen again_.

"Don't you dare." She said, her voice low. "Don't you dare judge me you bastard. You killed Albus Dumbledore. You betrayed us all. You admitted it at the Wizengamot. Now, now you try and wheedle your way out of prison by feeding me some pathetic excuse. What's the matter Snape, getting sick of the walls?" She grabbed her briefcase and made for the door. "I hope you rot in here." She told him as she left.

"Kindly ask Shacklebolt to send someone with a little more sense and a little less Gryffindor sentimentality next time." He called after her with a smirk. That was wonderful. Perfect.

_Infuriating, callous man!_ She raged. _How dare he? _She glared at her shoes, her skirt, wiped absently at her mascara. That bastard! Oh she should have known… what did she expect? He was always a deeply horrible man… why would he be any different?

He was remotely happy, he realised. For the first time since Albus' death, he had thoroughly enjoyed himself. He must have been crazier than he thought if he was finding himself enjoying the company of a frustrated Gryffindor.

Oh, but she had been _fun_.


	2. Le juge

Retrospection & Introspection

Disclaimer: As before.

Author's notes: This should hopefully clear a few things up.

* * *

She returned home that evening, frustrated and feeling oddly drained. He was tiresome, that was for sure. She smiled mirthlessly… tiresome, hadn't he called her that a million times at least? Along with a million other insults… Insufferable know-it-all, exasperating wench, impertinent chit.

"Kindly ask Shacklebolt to send someone with a little more sense and a little less Gryffindor sentimentality next time."

She could _kill _him. Who did he think he was? To sit there, clad in his shabby robes, clothed in his own guilt, and judge her? He was a murderer! A betrayer! The lowest of the low! Even Draco thought so, everyone knew what he was, _who_ he was, what he had done, hated him, loathed him, wished him dead.

Except Remus.

She sighed at that thought. Remus' death was a permanent source of regret, fear and guilt for her. She had been there, seen it with her own eyes. She had cried out to stop Harry, cast her disarming spell a split second too late… how could he? How could Harry Potter have turned into the kind of person who killed his own friends because they didn't agree with him?

In truth, he had not. Had it been on any other subject, Harry would have argued fiercely, but never, never would have raised his wand against a friend. But when it came to Dumbledore, when it was about Snape, Harry could not be swayed. He was scarred, tainted by what he had seen Snape do. He was "Dumbledore's man"… and he was out for revenge. Snape was lucky he'd been put before the Wizengamot before Harry could get his hands on him.

Or maybe he deserved it. She had always been rational about it, her usual straight thinking self. Snape was innocent until proven guilty. Snape was proven guilty, but Sirius had been put in Azkaban for twelve years, and he had been innocent. Harry had seen Snape kill Dumbledore, she had seen Snape admit to the murder… but the possibility lingered in the back of her mind that all was not as it seemed. Snape had been too calm, too accepting. He had simply flicked his gaze to Harry as the sentence was declared. He did not protest when he was sentenced to life in Azkaban prison. No, the only protests had been Harry's cries for the Dementors kiss. The Wizengamot had not agreed… Snape held too much information, was too valuable a resource to be killed. On Harry's pleas they had agreed to reconsider his sentence should Voldemort be defeated.

Now of course, the Dementors kiss was out of the question. Just months after Snape had been interred, the Dementors had left the prison to join Voldemort. Harry, of course, had blamed Snape. It seemed to Hermione that Harry was fighting Severus Snape now more than he was fighting Voldemort. All his anger, all his injustice, his pain was aimed at the potions professor.

After spending just ten minutes in the same room as the man, Hermione could see why. How dare he insult her intelligence by claiming his innocence then? Probably trying to appeal to that Gryffindor sentimentality he held in such low esteem. Well, she'd show him. She would report to Shacklebolt immediately, and see to it that she never had to see Severus Snape again.

But the matter of Harry's demise remained pertinent. She had been sent to Snape to tell him Harry had killed Draco in cold blood. The Order had believed it would anger Snape into either further incriminating himself by admitting to poisoning Harry's mind- Mad-Eye's theory- or convince him to offer any information that would help. Of course, she had failed miserably in her deception, and now that he knew the truth he didn't seem willing to offer anything of use except his self pity.

She stopped her train of thought immediately. She was doing him a disservice. No matter how impossible, infuriating and downright nasty the man was, he had at no point shown any signs of self pity. Just self loathing. Which, Hermione reasoned, was probably to be expected of the man who had killed the best wizard to have lived. Save for Harry of course, she added mentally, although she was feeling rather doubtful about Harry's mental strength at the moment.

She collapsed on her couch and fought back tears. Oh, it was all so futile! Professor Dumbledore was dead, Remus was dead, Sirius was dead, Harry was a murderer, Professor Snape was every bit as dreadful as he had always been, and she had failed in the only mission the Order had ever given her.

And then of course, there was the fact that Ron had proposed to her.

Which, she knew, she shouldn't be listing along with the greatest tragedies to befall the wizarding world. But she couldn't help it. It was a situation she couldn't remedy, a problem she couldn't solve, so it was every bit as catastrophic as her abstract failure with Snape.

She let the tears fall.

* * *

The next morning she woke on her couch, still clad in her best skirt and nicest jumper, the mascara all over her face just a reminder of the tears she had cried. Practical as always she cast all of her worries from her mind, and showered and ate quickly. She didn't let herself think about the night before.

She was at Kingsley Shacklebolt's office at the Ministry by nine o clock, and was pleased to find him available to see her.

"Well Miss Granger, I rather expected to hear from you last night." He said as she took a seat opposite him. "How was your… visit to Azkaban?"

"Not as successful as I might have hoped, Sir." She admitted. "Professor Snape was not eager to part with any information." _Not that I even asked for any, stupid twit that I am_. She added mentally.

"I see…" Shacklebolt mused. "How did he react to the news of Draco's "death"?"

Hermione winced. Time to unveil her failure.

"He didn't believe me."

Shacklebolt nodded, surprisingly accepting.

"Didn't think he would, to be honest." He told her.

"Then why ask me to lie to him, if you knew he'd see through it?" She was incredulous. Surely the Order wouldn't be that obtuse?

"It was worth a try."

"Was it, sir? Would honesty not have been a better option if you knew he would see through the deception so easily?" Honestly, did these people know _nothing_ of the human psyche?

"He doesn't deserve honesty."

"Perhaps not, but how can we expect it from him, if we don't give it?"

"Need I remind you, Miss Granger, that Severus Snape is a murderer and a traitor, not a House Elf in need of saving." Shacklebolt snapped, tired of her arguing. He had already had Harry Potter in his office this morning appealing for Snape's execution.

Hermione reddened, and bit back her reply.

"Miss Granger, you understand how tense the situation is at the moment. Harry is justifiably angered by the very idea of you questioning Snape. Currently the only argument I have in favour of keeping the bastard alive is that we need whatever information he can give us. If we cannot get that information, he will be killed, Dementors or no."

"Let me try again." The words were out of her mouth before the idea had even formed in her mind.

Shacklebolt raised an eyebrow.

"I was nervous yesterday, it was my first time in Azkaban sir. Let me try again, I'll be prepared."

He didn't look convinced. Honestly, she didn't blame him. She wasn't convinced herself.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes." _No. Not at all._

"Well Miss Granger you may return to Azkaban today if you wish. I will have your clearance extended until the end of the week. If you do not obtain any information of use by then, I will have no choice but to declare this mission a failure and recommend Snape for execution." Shacklebolt told her.

Pressure. Pressure she could deal with. She was good with pressure. Wasn't she?

She pushed her worries from her mind.

"I'll do my best sir." She told him. At his nod she stood to leave and was almost out the door before she heard his voice call out to her.

"Be careful Miss Granger, do not make Snape into one of your hopeless causes." He warned.

_Honestly! _She fumed silently as she stormed out_. That was second year! Couldn't they just let it go?_

_

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	3. Le prisonner

**Preliminary Progress**

**Disclaimer: As before**

**Author's Notes: Huge apologies for taking so long… I blame all my exams! Hope this was worth the wait!**

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Absolutely bloody mad.

By the time this week was over she'd be checking herself into St. Mungo's to keep Lockhart company. Or she'd have a dead Snape on her conscience, not to mention no information to help Harry.

But why did the man have to be so decidedly awful?

Well, what did she expect murderers to be like? Grinning Hufflepuffs? The voice in the back of her mind reminded her that along with Snape she had to class Harry. He too was a murderer now, in action if not law.

Oh, to be eleven years old again, when the line between good and evil had been so clear cut.

She approached the gates for the second time in two days. A different guard advanced from the other side of the huge iron entrance.

"Name?"

"Hermione Jane Granger."

"What is your business here?"

"I have been sent to interview a prisoner." There was no hesitation this time, no softening of the term. She was here to see a prisoner, a man due for execution.

"By whom?"

"Kingsley Shacklebolt, under direct orders from the Minister for Magic." Almost a carbon copy of her conversation with the guard the previous day.

The gates swung open. Grimacing at the oppressive building, she mentally scolded herself.

"_Head up Granger, you're a Gryffindor."_

Snape wondered if one could grow bored of boredom. His brief excitement of the day before had been wonderful at first, but once he had been returned to the dull cell it had only served to highlight the monotony of this caged life. Now the walls seemed even more tedious than before, their dull grey colour starkly tedious in comparison to Miss Grangers rather spectacular anger. The air seemed heavy without the smell of her perfume, and her fear. The silence so oppressive in comparison to those dulcet tones of her annoyance.

The door swung open. He grimaced at the startling light, the shape of that guard… was it Craven?… a silhouette against the brightness.

"Your lady friend is back Snape."

Could such ineloquent words ever before have held such wonder? She had returned. His interrogator had come back for more. How delicious…

"Thank you Craven." He replied and delighted at the surprise on the guard's face. His first reply to the long suffering warden, and it was one of gratitude. She was here, again! Like a lamb to the slaughter he mused, back for more ill-treatment, more slurs on her character.

The guard shook his head at the prisoners uncharacteristic good humour. Sure, the girl was pretty enough in the right light, but she was there to interrogate him, not give him a foot rub.

"Miss Granger, to what do I owe the pleasure of your esteemed company today?" Severus asked once the guard had left the white interrogation room. "Potter killed another colleague?"

_Brace yourself. He's only trying to annoy you_, She told herself, _just smile. Think of Harry, you're doing this for him._

"Good afternoon Professor." She greeted him as she sat opposite him.

He was pleased by her faux happiness. So contrived, so forced, so predictable. It wasn't quite her splendid fury, but she had only been in the room a few minutes. This would be more interesting if she put up a fight.

"I thought I told you Miss Granger. I'm 6657 now." He reminded her. _Yes, think of that Miss Granger, think of how I lost my identity to your _justice. "My, I always believed Minerva was exaggerating when she spoke of your intelligence, but I'm sure even Potter could remember something that took place yesterday."

Nothing. No tensing of the shoulders. No quickening pulse. No pursed lips.

Almost admirable.

"I could call you Severus, if you would prefer that?" She asked, smiling politely.

"If the offer is extended on your part also?" He replied smoothly. Like a cat, waiting to pounce… "Hermione." Every syllable was given its due as he caressed her name as a lover might. He had hoped for some reaction, a shiver, a tremor. All he received was a raised eyebrow.

"It isn't."

Strong, curt, to the point. Now, if she could just start breathing normally again, everything would be fine.

"How disappointing." He answered, wondering if he could wheedle any more information from her before he elicited his eagerly anticipated anger.

"I told you about Harry yesterday because Shacklebolt and the Order think you might be able to help us." She told him.

"Do you?"

"I think it depends on what we offer you." She replied. "I may be a sentimental Gryffindor but I've been working in the Ministry long enough to know how Slytherin's think."

He would have smiled, he thought, if he still knew how. She thought she understood. She thought she could quantify them, label them, like she would a chemistry experiment. How… Muggle of her.

"And what do you _offer_ me?" Leering, suggestive… like he would touch this impertinent child if his life depended on it. But he had seen the effort she made yesterday, he could see even now, without the make up or the heels, she was still eager to prove herself a woman. He wasn't blind, she was a woman now, but she would always be so innocent, so terribly pure. Still, she was attempting to assert her femininity- he wondered if there was a reason?- and it gave him a fabulous opportunity to make her uncomfortable.

It worked. She hadn't expected that, from him. A shudder ripped through her body. Some things should just never be suggested, no matter how vaguely.

"All I can offer you is your life."

"My life? How do you propose to do that? Have you time turner capable of going back thirty years hidden in your purse Miss Granger?" He laughed. Lack of moisture in the prison air, and the rarity of the action make his laugh almost a rasp.

Hermione thought it fitting.

"Harry wants you dead."

"The feeling is mutual."

She couldn't tell if he meant he too wished himself dead, or if he wanted to kill Harry. She decided not to ask, she didn't care either way.

"If you help us, you will be spared." She told him. Her bargaining chip, her only weapon. If this didn't work, nothing would. If it didn't work she could just walk straight out the door, and straight off a cliff.

"Spared? Is this a joke of some kind? Let me clarify the facts, for my own amusement. You come in here, to the hellhole that _you people _have imprisoned me in, and tell me that if I help you, you will spare me? Spare me what, the respite of death? The sweet and welcoming oblivion?"

"You are here because you killed Professor Dumbledore." She reminded him. "You were not imprisoned unjustly."

"Of course I wasn't." He replied. "I thought we passed this yesterday?"

"I don't believe you. Dumbledore would have confided in Harry. He wouldn't have let this happen."

"I believe Albus once again underestimated Potter's stupidity."

"Don't talk about Harry like that! He's the strongest wizard…"

"Since Voldemort." He interrupted with a sneer. "Need I remind you that Potter's powers stem entirely from Riddle? Albus always did try and convince the world he was some kind of protégé when anyone with an ounce of sense could see it was luck, not talent that bought him his fame."

Like a torch to the flame, she flared, ignited, was _born_ in her anger.

"Don't you dare talk about him like that!" She warned him. How could he, a criminal, the lowest of the low, talk about Harry like that?

"Of course, I forgot Mr Potter is exempt from the laws of society! If he is a fool, we call him brave. If he is lucky, we called him talented." He said bitterly. "And if he is a murderer, we call him a saviour."

She was once again livid, but he had not the inclination to revel in her anger. He was too bitter, too furious himself. Potter had escaped the "justice" they had so readily punished him with. He had killed Albus on the old man's request… Potter had murdered Remus in anger.

But of course the wonder boy couldn't be treated like everyone else. No, no, he must be handled with kid-gloves, praised for his stupidity. No, no, these people would _never_ win the war.

"Let me tell you something Miss Granger, and then you can leave this cell and this place for good." He said softly. "Remus Lupin may not have been my best friend, or my closest confidant, but he was a better man than Potter will ever be. He was clever, resourceful and the only chance the Order had left of winning this war."

She looked at him then, and he noted with a start that it was the first time she had looked him in the eye.

"We Gryffindors may have little else to offer the world other than our stupidity and foolish bravery, Professor, but we have hope. Which is more than I can say for Slytherin."

"Merlin's beard girl, can you not win a war with hope alone."

"Nor can you win one solely with ambition."

She was right. So was he. An impasse perhaps, a time when they both needed to acknowledge the other's opinions. Or the end for him. He knew it would come down to this moment. His future, his life, the war. And he would be damned if he allowed them kill him and miss their only chance of defeating Riddle.

"I will help you Miss Granger." He told her softly, and heard her slight intake of breath, felt the surge of hope she was clearly experiencing. She was a strange one, he mused. She had not the tact or subtlety of a Slytherin, which was of course to be expected, but nor had she the brazen stupidity of a Gryffindor. He would have placed her in Ravenclaw were it not for her courage.

"Will you tell me what is wrong with Harry?" This was hope, this was possibility. This was why she had come, this could work.

"No."

Gone. Dashed. Smothered. Hope was fickle, she pondered.

"I cannot tell you what has happened to Potter, girl, because I do not know. It sounds to me like the attention seeking qualities of his youth have escalated with his egotism and fear. I suggest you take him to see a Muggle psychologist."

She held her tongue. She would not rise to this. She would not undone the unspoken progress that had been made.

"What I can tell you is what is happening to Voldemort."

Rebirth, renaissance. Hermione understood the Christian faith in resurrection. There was no end. There was no death for hope.

"If you do something for me Miss Granger." Ever the Slytherin, he knew he could not simply hand her the information.

She shivered. His tone was innocuous, but she still felt a tremor of fear at his words. What could he, a murderer, want from her?

* * *

**Authors Notes II: Sorry about the cliffhanger... but it could mean a speedy update if reviews are plentiful! **


	4. L'agressor

**L'agressor  
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**Disclaimer: As before**

**Author's Notes: Somewhat short, but it needed to end here for now. I have huge exams starting Monday, so bear with me for updates, they may take a while.

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"And what would that be?" She asked. The palms of her hands were suddenly clammy, the air in the room at once too hot and too cold. She tried to force her face to remain neutral.

Severus could sense her fear, and briefly entertained the idea of toying with her a little. Then, remembering the magnitude of his request, he decided it would be best to be straight with her. Even if it did go against everything he believed in. _Sacrifices must be made in times of war _he reminded himself.

"I would like a book." He told her evenly, trying to hide the longing in his voice. It had been so long… too long. He needed to read like Albus had needed to twinkle and the girl in front of him needed to please. If she denied him this… he would be hard pressed to refrain from choking her.

"A book?" Impossible. He couldn't have just bargained the outcome of the war on reading material. There must be a catch, he must want something more… sinister. A book was too simple, too human a desire. Too Ravenclaw for this master of Slytherin. Too humane for a murderer.

"Yes. I trust you are familiar with the term?"

Hermione fought back the urge to strangle him, and settled instead on a technique she had learned in his very class. Patronising sarcasm.

"So you would be satisfied with any book Sir? I know Professor Binns has just published a five volume epic poem in syllabic meter about the Goblin Rising. I trust that would be to your tastes?"

A small part of him- soon trampled down by common sense- admired her audacity. She had indeed changed, he mused. She was no longer so eager to illicit praise and admiration. There was a certain hardness in her now that could only have been caused by the war. He vaguely liked it, he realised. This place had truly driven him from his senses.

"Point taken Miss Granger. Anything by Dante, Wilde, Yeats or Plato will suffice."

A curt nod signalled her agreement, and hid her surprise. She knew of course that most wizards indulged in Muggle literature, but she had never pictured him as the sort to enjoy such trivial things. He seemed more an _Ars Alchemia _and _The Dark Arts Anthology _typeStill, she would bring him The Bible if she thought it would help her cause.

"Now, regarding Tom Riddle and his band of merry men." His voice cut through the silence, interrupting her thoughts. "Potter I'm sure has told you all about the Horcruxes? It would seem the esteemed Mr. Potter was not as subtle in his pursuit of said items as someone of sensible mind might be. Voldemort had just garnered news of the boy's quest shortly before my timely arrest. He was, I believe, intent on lying in wait for Potter at the location of the next Horcrux." His tone was serious, although as always laced with sarcasm. Hermione tried to ignore how it grated on her to hear Harry dismissed in such a way. Snape's words, while sardonic, had grave consequences.

"Harry believes he has located the next Horcrux." She told him with dread.

"Thirteen months… The boys intellect never was very sharp, although I suppose we should be thankful in these circumstances. Does he plan to bring Weasley and run headlong into an ambush any time soon?"

"He is leaving tomorrow to retrieve it, with Ron and Charlie." She told him. "And he doesn't know there will be an ambush, you can't hold the fact that his is not personally acquainted with Voldemort's plans against him."

"Can I not, Miss Granger? Did I not attempt to teach him the ways of Leglimency and Occlumency in his fifth year at Hogwarts? If he had not quit at such a desperately early stage he would perhaps be able to infiltrate the Dark Lord's mind and obtain such information." Severus seethed. The boy had always been too soft, too pampered. It was Albus' fault of course. Always giving him treatment he didn't need or deserve.

"You kicked him out!" Hermione was raging now, much to Severus' delight. He did so love to see her angered. "It is your fault! All of it is!"

"How many times did I kick Longbottom out of my class for his stupidity Miss Granger? Did he return each time? Did I allow him back in? Of course, and we both know why. For all his supposed Gryffindor bravery, Mr Potter is nothing but a selfish, irresponsible coward." His words were harsh, punctuated by his hatred. If the boy had been clever, had possessed some self control and sense, this battle could be won. Lupin might not have lost his life. Albus might not have lost his life.

He marvelled at her blindness. She had long proven herself an intelligent girl, if not particularly insightful. However, when it came to matters of simple understanding regarding Potter or Weasley, she was blind to anything but her delusions of their brilliance. Oh, but she was frustrating! Every time he thought she showed some sign of insight or worthiness, she insisted on degrading herself with her narrow mindedness!

Hermione was furious, but bit back the retort on her tongue. How could she defend Harry against such a charge? Had she herself not called him a coward after Remus' death? Had she not challenged his leadership skills, not lamented his rash decisions? She was not such a hypocrite as to defend him against the very charges she herself had put against him.

"What would you have us do?"

Severus was momentarily phased by her change of subject.

"Send an Auror in disguise as the Wonderboy, and have Potter on hand disguised as the Weasley, or another lackey of his. They'll bring them directly to Voldemort, but Riddle will only be interested in the supposed Potter. His attention, and that of all the Death Eaters will be focused on killing the supposed Potter, leaving them vulnerable. Then, He Who Lived can kill the bastard once and for all, thereby fulfilling the prophecy at the loss of only one innocent life."

Hermione was silent for a moment, so shocked was she by his suggestion.

"You want us to send an Auror to die." She said after a moment, her voice low. "Have you no morals?"

"As many morals as you have good ideas Miss Granger." He replied. "Do not tell me you are so naïve you cannot see that the sacrifice of one life to save the entire wizarding world is worthwhile?"

"And who do you propose we send Professor?" She asked, disgust etched on her face. "Do you have a personal favourite you would like to see killed in the name of good and righteousness? It's a pity Sirius isn't around, it would have been nice to dispatch of him that way. Maybe Ron? You've always hated him! Or perhaps Neville?" She was almost hysterical in her anger now, her face flushed, breathing erratic.

Severus was too annoyed at her naivety to enjoy her anger. These fools could never win the war. They were blind.

"Do not suggest this is a personal vendetta of mine." He warned. "You asked for my assistance, and I have given it as best I can. You will see soon enough that my plan is the only way by which to defeat the Dark Lord unless you want to attempt full on war. Goodbye Miss Granger, I don't expect I shall see you again."

He stood and motioned through the glass to the Guard, and left the room without a backward glance. Hermione, stunned and still furious, sat staring at the spot he had occupied. After a minute, she sighed, grabbed her bag, and stormed from the visiting cell, and the prison.

_Infuriating, immoral, horrible, horrible man! _She seethed as she stomped to the gateShe would rather die than see him again, let alone try to help him!

_Naïve, ignorant, foolish girl! _His anger was matched only by his frustration as he barely resisted slamming a fist into the wall. Well, that was it, he didn't care any more. They could go get themselves slaughtered. They deserved it for their stupidity.


	5. Le traitre

**Le traître**

**Disclaimer: I still own nothing. **

**Author's Notes: I agree, Hermione is terribly naïve, but she always has been, don't you think?

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It was with barely concealed fury that Hermione explained to Kingsley Shacklebolt that her investigations were not progressing well. She suggested- perhaps too eagerly?- that someone else might be better suited to the job. Of course that backfires- what doesn't these days?- and Shacklebolt decided then and there that Snape was to be killed.

"But… but he didn't do anything, he was just being… Snape. He didn't hurt me or anything." She had forgotten the threat of Snape's death, she had forgotten the power she held.

"That is irrelevant Miss Granger. You couldn't get the information you needed from him, so I must acquiesce to the Minister's demands." Shacklebolt's response is hollow and emotionless but his words are loaded.

Is she to be Snape's murderer? It is, undoubtedly, her fault now. Oh Snape may be an infuriating, horrible, cruel bastard, but does he deserve death? If only she'd been better at this interrogation business, if only she'd been able to get some information from him!

"But…"

"I'm sorry Miss Granger, but I warned you not to make Snape into your new pet project," _honestly! She is almost seething at the suggestion_, "Severus Snape will be sentenced to death by execution within the next week."

So soon, so final. Shacklebolt ushers her from his office and she stands on the ministry corridor, feeling utterly bereft.

Snape is to be killed, because of _her_ failure.

Oh, Merlin, could this day _be_ any worse?

* * *

It wasn't raining. Again. If Severus didn't know better, he would think that Voldemort was controlling the weather just to annoy him. 

He hated when it wasn't raining. If it wasn't raining it could sunny, inclement, fair, biting, frosty- all manner of things!- and he simply couldn't tell! At least with rain he could hear it, faintly splashing and dropping and be content that at least _he_ wasn't getting wet.

He hoped that wherever Hermione Granger was it was raining relentlessly and heavily and that her bushy mane was weighing her down. And that she had no umbrella. Or wand. Or any way of getting out of the storm.

He might have cackled at the image if he wasn't so infuriated. He was not a foolish or naïve man to say the least, but he had allowed himself hope that Granger would find a way to get him out. He was sure her intention had been solely to retrieve whatever information she could- Shacklebolt probably just wanted her out of his office- but he knew her type. She would begin to pity her former teacher, believe him to secretly have a great, tortured conscience and warm heart beneath all the sarcasm, and before he knew it she would be knitting him tea-cosy hates and appealing for a retrial.

Much as he had abandoned any hope of getting away from these _damned _walls, her presence- her simple _existence_- had fuelled a longing to get out of this place far greater than he had previously felt. If Hermione Granger- of all people!- could provide such entertainment in her anger, imagine the rage he could incite in someone like Moody, or Minerva McGonagall! Or Potter himself! The possibilities…

* * *

By the time Hermione arrived at the Burrow for dinner, half of the Order were sitting around the table eating. She smiled through her frustration and allowed Ron kiss her on the cheek and guide her to her seat. The dinner was delicious as usual, and for a moment she almost forgot that the black haired boy with the lightning scar sitting opposite her was a murderer and that the pink haired girl sitting at the other end of the table had just lost her would-be husband to Harry's killing curse. 

She could vaguely hear Harry and Ron discussing Quidditch, and at the other end of the table could see that Fred and George were doing their best to cheer Tonks up. Bill and Fleur were engaged in an intimate conversation to her left, and Hermione found herself pitted in despair. She was to marry Ronald Weasley. Not that she had given him an answer of course, but everyone believed it, everyone saw it as inevitable. She could hear Professor McGonagall telling Professor Sprout that she had known from the moment she saw them both that they were destined to be together… Why then could she summon no enthusiasm for the idea of marriage? Was it normal to see her impending nuptials as a fast approaching cage eager to lock her in and keep opportunity out?

"So Hermione, how was your trip to Azkaban today?"

Damn Percy Weasley to hell. Damn him for stirring up trouble just because he was bitter he hadn't been asked to help the Order after all that business with Crouch. Damn damn damn.

She cringed as Harry and Ron abruptly ended their conversation at the mention of the prison, and felt the eyes of the table upon her. Damn it.

"It was fine."

She could almost _feel_ Harry's anger. Why was everything so difficult these days?

"And how is Snape?"

She would kill Percy Weasley. She would kill him without remorse for subjecting her to this.

"Professor Snape is fine too." What a blatant lie.

"He's not a Professor anymore Hermione." Percy reminded her. "You don't have to use any term of respect when you address him."

"He was my Professor for seven years Percy, it is a habit." She defended herself quickly, hoping to diffuse the tension she could feel building in the air around her. The dinner table was quiet now, except for the clinking of cutlery.

"I don't know why you're doing this." Harry's voice broke the silence and Hermione closed her eyes in defeat. Snape was right, how could they ever win this war? They couldn't even have a meal together without an argument.

"You don't need to Harry." She replied tersely. She was tired of treating him specially. She was tired of tip toeing around the fact that he had killed Remus! She was tired of all of this, this damned war, Professor Snape sentenced to death, everything.

"Snape is a murderer!" Harry was livid with her, his voice almost cracking with emotion.

"So are you." Tonks' voice was quiet but everyone in the room felt the power of her words. No one spoke for a moment.

"Remus' death was tragic Nymphadora, darling, we all miss him and wish it hadn't happened. But Harry isn't a criminal, like Snape. Harry didn't mean to do it, it is a tough time for us all." Molly's words sounded pathetic even to her ears.

"You used to call him Severus." Hermione said softly, and the attention of the table turned back to her. "You used to trust him. You valued him. You asked him to eat with us."

"He killed Dumbledore!" Ron was incredulous. Why was Hermione acting like this? Why was she defending Snape?

"Murder is murder regardless of the perpetrator." Hermione barely got the words out of her mouth. They were terrifying, powerful words. They knew too much, they said to much and she could feel the effect they had on Harry.

"I am not a traitor."

"I know you're not, Harry." Hermione told him, meeting his eyes, facing the anger she saw there. "But I don't believe Professor Snape is either."

It wasn't until she had said the words that Hermione Granger realised that they were true. She didn't believe Severus Snape was a traitor.

Ignoring Harry's protests, and everyone's confusion, Hermione stood from the table, thanked Molly for the meal and ran to the fireplace. As she threw the floo powder into the fire, she called "Kingsley Shacklebolt's office" and was gone.

* * *

He was going to die here. He was so bored of this endless, relentless, infinite… absence. Absence of light, of life, of inspiration. He imagined it would kill him, in the end. Better that than wake up one day and find Voldemort standing in his cell wearing the twisted smile of victory. 

Granger would be dead by then, he mused. How odd to think of a world without her and her Gryffindor counterparts. How oddly bereft of innocence it would be, thought he supposed he could hardly call her innocent after being inside these walls and fighting the likes of Lucius Malfoy. Still, she was more virtuous than most. He grimaced at the thought. Hermione Granger's virtue was not something he wished to dwell on.

He wondered how long she had been gone. It seemed like two days but he knew it could be no longer than ten hours. He sighed, back to the tedium, it seemed. And now, not even the promise of a book to brighten the endless boredom.

* * *

"Miss Granger what in Merlin's name are you doing in my fireplace at ten o clock on a Friday evening?" Shacklebolt was surprised, not to mentioned irked, that the girl was once more invading his office. 

Hermione didn't know. She hadn't a bloody clue. She just knew that she had to do something, anything, to save Snape from execution.

"I wasn't entirely honest with you earlier Sir." She told him, wondering where the hell she was going with this. "Professor Snape did provide some information."

"And?"

"He… he said that Voldemort knows that Harry is looking for the Horcruxes."

That got Shacklebolt's attention.

"He said that when he was imprisoned, Voldemort was planning on ambushing Harry at the next location."

"Merlin's beard… and Potter is planning on going after the next on tomorrow."

"Tomorrow Sir?"

"Did Snape have any remedy to the situation?"

Ah. Right. How did she possibly answer this? Should she be honest, admit Snape's foul plan and condemn him to death for being a horrid, cruel git, or did she say nothing and condemn him to death for being a worthless killer?

Oh, bugger.

She told him. She explained Snape's despicable plan and was more than a little surprised as Shacklebolt nodded in agreement with his ideas. This couldn't be possible, they wouldn't!

"It seems Snape has surpassed himself. Yes, this plan seems like it could work…" Shacklebolt mused. Hermione was scandalised.

"You would really send an Auror into certain death?"

Shacklebolt smiled then, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. Before he opened his mouth, she knew what he was going to say.

"Oh no, Miss Granger. We will send Snape to certain death. A fitting end, don't you think? And far less messy than a public execution. Excellent plan Miss Granger, brilliant work. This could lead to a promotion for you! I must contact Harry at once, we need to run through the finer points of the plan. I believe the ministry have a few vials of Polyjuice Potion on hand. Brewed by the old bat himself, if I remember correctly." Shacklebolt was nearly laughing with excitement, and Hermione could barely conceal her disgust. Did they all place so little value on life? Just because Snape was in prison didn't mean he was worthless.

As Shacklebolt went about contacting the Order and organising this new strategy, Hermione Granger sat and contemplated the role she had played in all of this. If she hadn't volunteered to go, if she hadn't bargained with Shacklebolt to save Professor Snape's life, if she hadn't told him of the plan…

She had condemned him to death. He was to die disguised as Harry Potter, so that while the spell wore off and his body was left cold and lifeless, the glory would lie in Harry's hands- the hands of a killer.

She didn't realise she was crying until she moved to brush her hair from her face.

She didn't realise she was leaving until she heard the door slam behind her.

She didn't realise where she was going until the gates of Azkaban loomed in front of her.


	6. Le sacrifice

**Le sacrifice**

**Disclaimer: As before!**

**Author's Notes: Thank you so much to all who have reviewed this story, you really do make a difference! There shouldn't be too much of a delay on the next chapter, I have most of it planned and the rest figured out in my head.

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It was dark as the guard led her to the visiting cell. Hermione could feel the chill in the air, could feel the hopelessness, and wondered how many prisoners this hellhole held. Most of the Death Eaters had escaped once the Dementors left, and as far as she knew Snape was the only one who hadn't broken free. Was he alone in this cold cage?

"I will fetch the prisoner." The guard said as he opened the door.

"His name is Professor Snape." She replied tersely. She had no right to be angry at the guard. Snape was a prisoner, he was believed a killer. This man did not know what she did, had not seen what she had seen.

Why had it taken her so long to realise this? Why had she not seen the truth in his words until now, until it was too late?

The guard eyed her curiously and then left to fetch the prisoner. The girl had visited the prison for the past two days seemingly without motive. She wasn't an Auror, he knew that much. The guard on the gate had told him she was working for the Ministry, but she looked so young! She couldn't be more than twenty. And she was only interested in Snape. Snape's guard, Craven, told him that the bastard seemed happier after her visits. Was it any surprise? The bright eyed girl with the lovely legs was the first woman guest to the prison since Narcissa Malfoy almost four years ago. And Snape was getting all the attention!

* * *

Hermione curled a strand of hair around her finger nervously as she waited for the guard to return with Professor Snape. How was she to tell him? Of course, Shacklebolt had not instructed her to, but she couldn't bear the thought of Harry being the one to tell him of his impending death.

"Miss Granger, what a… pleasant surprise." His voice was laced with sarcasm but could not conceal his confusion. Why had she come here? Why had she returned? She had been crying he noticed, and wondered if Potter had rid the world of another do-gooder.

Hermione turned to him as the door shut and locked behind him. She would tell him. She had to. As her eyes met his, she realised she could not. The words were beyond her. How could she tell a man she barely tolerated that she was responsible for his death? How could she condemn him, when she was the only one who believed him?

"I'm sorry…"

For the life of him he could not fathom why she had come, in the middle of the night, to apologise.

"For what Miss Granger?"

She could not answer, and suddenly he knew, suddenly he understood. He was to be put to death.

Silence descended.

So he was to die. It was strangely anti climatic. He had always known in the back of his mind, that one day they would decide he wasn't worth the guards' wages. He hadn't thought it would be now, before the Voldemort's destruction. Suddenly his half life seemed strangely appealing, the walls not so dull, the day not so long.

So this is the end.

"Do you believe in life after death?" Her question came from no where and while he longed to stamp it down with a cruel smirk and mocking jibe, her honesty demanded he reply in kind.

"I make a point in believing in as little as possible. I believe in Voldemort's infinite evilness, in Potter's endless stupidity and in my own death sentence."

She looked away, and seemed to brush a tear from her eye. Was she crying for him? Foolish girl, would she never learn?

"I believe in Harry." She said softly, and he could see she was surprised by her words.

"And therein lies our problem Miss Granger. If you would just let go of your inane faith in the fool a solution to this ridiculous situation with Voldemort might be possible… Potter cannot formulate a plan to save his life, let alone the entire wizarding world. He needs you to do that for him."

"Is that a compliment Sir?" She met his eye again, a small smile on her face. She _was_ crying he noticed.

"Interpretation is entirely a matter of perspective." He replied. He would not admit to complimenting this girl, however lightly. He would not change his ways for a twenty year old Gryffindor with wild hair and a quick brain.

"If you are attempting to be cryptic Sir, you are succeeding." She replied, and he could see she was baiting him. How interesting that only yesterday she had hated him so vividly. How changeable Gryffindor's were. Or perhaps he did her a disservice to group her so readily with her house. Were prejudices like his not the reason for his war?

"Is that a compliment Miss Granger?"

"Touché Sir."

"You appear to have sharpened your with somewhat. Mercifully," he told her.

She was silent for a moment. It was all very well to find a sudden affinity with the man, but she was here to tell him of his fate, not to build long overdue bridges.

"I told Shacklebolt what… what you said. What you suggested." Her tone was tentative, and he could sense her unease. Was this the reason for his impending death? Had his plan sealed his fate?

"And?"

"He… he wants you to be the bait."

She watched his face. Surprise, understanding, resignation. She wanted nothing more than to take back her words, to take back this week… How could she let them lead him to his death now? She knew him. She would never understand him, she doubted she could ever bring herself to like him, but she _knew _him.

"I shouldn't be surprised." His tone was soft, and he seemed to speak more to himself than to her. "But I will admit that this possibility had not occurred to me. It is… fitting I suppose. Tell me Miss Granger, does this plan agree with your Gryffindor morals?" He could feel a strange anger toward the girl building inside him. Earlier that day she had condemned him as heartless for the very idea, and yet she had told her Ministry boss and now he was to be put to death for it.

"I can't say it does Sir, but surely it agrees with your more pragmatic Slytherin ones?" She tried to keep the tears from falling again. The last thing she needed was for him to mock her sentimentality.

He seemed to consider her words, and she was almost certain he inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement. She was filled once more with a sense of injustice. They could not kill him!

"When?"

"Tomorrow morning." She replied, avoiding his eyes. "Harry, Ron and Charlie will accompany you."

"And the polyjuice?" Before she could reply she saw realisation dawn on his face. "Taken from the Ministry stores… the stores I myself filled only two years ago."

She could only nod.

"This is truly an exercise in irony."

They were interrupted as the guard opened the door.

"Mr. Potter is here to see the prisoner." He spoke directly to Hermione, not even acknowledging Snape and Hermione felt her anger rising. She preferred the other guard, Craven. At least he had shown some respect. It was only after he had left that she processed what he had said.

Harry was here.

"An audience with the esteemed Harry Potter? I should count myself lucky that he deigned to visit me before leading me to my death., shouldn't I?" Snape's tone was laced with sarcasm.

"Please Professor, don't…." _Incite him, don't give him a reason to hurt you, please…_

"Oh do let me have these final moments of bitterness Miss Granger. I shall have to be so stoic and self sacrificing once the Order arrives."

Hermione caught the humour in his tone and raised her eyes to his.

"I think… I think I'm growing quite fond of you Sir." She admitted. He caught her blush and smirked inwardly. Once a Gryffindor…

"Your timing is impeccable Miss Granger. And your taste is as good as your wit." He told her, wondering why he was so fervently avoiding her eyes. The floor was suddenly interesting. His shabby robes… was that a piece of lint? Anything to occupy his eyes and his attention.

"Which coincidentally has improved this past two days," she replied, "I'm not propositioning you Sir," she assured him. Heaven forbid the man think she had developed any kind of romantic attachment to him.

"I should hope not Miss Granger. I would hate to this your Gryffindor goodness would be tainted by necrophilia."

She smiled at his reply, and he wondered if this was how it felt to make someone else happy. The only others who had ever smiled at him were Lucius and Albus. Lucius' had been more of a leer, really, and Albus well you never knew what was going on in his head. Perhaps this was what he had meant when he had suggested he unleash his acerbic wit more than his acerbic cruelty. Severus would admit that he was not wholly displeased with the results.

"Hermione?"

They both started as Harry's voice rang through the corridors.

"I have to go," she said needlessly and he nodded, "I…goodbye Sir."

"Goodbye Miss Granger."

"Hermione." She corrected him. Now, here, she could not bear that he call her anything else.

"Goodbye… Hermione."

A moment, perhaps, he thought, slightly bemused. As she hurried out the door, glancing over her shoulder after he left, he mused on the brief eye contact, the fission in the air. A moment, with Hermione Granger of all people! How absurd!

He was torn from his thoughts as Harry Potter appeared in the doorway.

"Snape." The voice that spat his name was loaded with venom, and Snape sighed inwardly. The boy had no subtlety.

* * *

Hermione brushed unwanted tears from her eyes as she left the prison. She had caught Harry's eye as he swept past her into the cell. His were the eyes of a killer. Snape's eyes, cold and dark held only sorrow, not that unparalleled rage she had seen in those of her supposed best friend. Harry had become someone she barely recognised. Where she had once found comfort and love and happiness, she now found fear, anger and helplessness. He was no longer their saviour, but their greatest threat. How could they defeat evil when it lived among them?

And Professor Snape, the man who had once seemed to embody all that was cruel and foul in the world, was to be his next victim. Since Professor Dumbledore's death Harry had been out for Professor Snape's blood, out for a vengeance that was his alone to achieve. Hermione had long stopped believing in revenge, it was simply another tool of war, a way of prolonging anger and causing needless death. But her philosophies had fallen on deaf ears and she had listened to Ron when he told her not to antagonise Harry. He was too vulnerable, too cut up about losing his mentor and friend. Hermione had long grown tired of protesting that they all knew loss but none of them had turned their wand on a friend.

Life was too complicated, and death too final. She had just said goodbye to a man who had in the course of two days become a vague ally, a man who was to be put to death.

Fuelled by desperation, frustration and something she could not place, Hermione closed her eyes and apparated. She arrived instantaneously at the door of the one person she felt she could trust, the one person who could help her.

If he was willing.

Deciding to cross that bridge when she came to it, Hermione took a deep breath and knocked on Ronald Weasley's door.


	7. L'aide

**L'aide**

**Disclaimer: See first chapter.**

** Author's Note: So it would appear I lied when I said this wouldn't take long... I'm so sorry for the delay, life has a horrible habit of being utterly crazy! **

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Hermione stood, breathless, in Ronald Weasley's living room, her story told and her plan unveiled. Ron seemed unsure, uncertain. His gaze was speculative and she was struck by the bizarre notion that it was as if he had never looked at her before. She hoped that what he saw would inspire him to help her.

"Why are you doing this?" His unexpected question forced her back to reality.

"I don't kn…"

"Don't tell me you don't know why Hermione. Nobody risks their life unnecessarily." His voice was louder than he intended, his words harsh and demanding. He considered apologising but decided not to. He needed to know what had inspired her to do this, all of this. He needed the truth, but doubted he wanted to hear it.

"Ron…" She didn't want to have to explain this now. Not to herself and not to him. She just needed his help. They didn't have time to argue.

"Don't dismiss me 'Mione. You're asking me to betray Harry, betray the Order. I need to know why. Why now, why for Snape?"

"Do you really want to know?" She asked, raising her eyes from to the floor to meet his. Her eyes were filled with fire, he noticed, and wondered why she had never appeared so animated before. "I need to do this because Harry is a murderer and Snape isn't. I need it because I had to do something to end this madness. Don't you see it? We're falling apart Ron, the Order, Hogwarts… all of us. We're losing each other and we're losing this war." She returned her gaze to the floor once she had finished, hoping to hide her flushed cheeks and the words she hadn't said. She needed it because his family were forcing her into a marriage she didn't want. She needed it because when Professor Snape had said her name, had finally looked at her, she had seen a future she had never known existed.

"Well maybe if you were to start fighting with us instead of against us we might have a chance!" Ron replied heatedly, wondering at her heightened colour, jealous that her fire wasn't burning for him. "Merlin Hermione, it's Snape for heaven's sake!"

And that was the crux of the matter, Hermione knew. It didn't matter what was just, or what was right. It mattered that it was Severus Snape. Snape, the former Death Eater, Snape the professor who tormented them for years, Snape the greasy bat who still wouldn't acknowledge them as adults.

"Killing Professor Snape seems to be everyone's great solution. Killing one man will not win us the war, and it will not bring Dumbledore back. And it won't save Harry from who he has become." Her voice was barely more than a whisper but her words were loaded.

Ron paused, their eyes met and Hermione hoped she saw a common fear, a common feeling. If she didn't, Professor Snape would die and it would be on her hands.

"This was Snape's idea Hermione. If the git hadn't come up with it in the first place…"

"You would have killed him anyway! Shacklebolt threatened to have him executed if I didn't get information from him! And when I did, you use it against it. It has to stop Ron. We can't keep killing." She knew her argument would sound weak to his ears. She knew she sounded like a crazed pacifist trying to win a war with words. But she could not explain herself any other way. Particularly not to Ron.

"What do you suggest we do then? Let You Know Who win?"

"No, of course not. I want this to be over as much as anyone else," she needed him to believe her when she said that. "But I want us to emerge with our morality and our sanity in tact. Look, I'm no tactician, you're the best the Order has. Professor Snape is our best chance to understand them. If you two work together, we can win this. Just talk to him. Stop Harry now before someone else dies and we lose our last chance." She was begging now, begging him to trust her and her words. Begging him to abandon age old prejudices in favour of cooperation with a man who had belittled him for years. She cursed Snape inwardly for being such a bastard for so long.

"No." Ron's reply was simple, straight and his eyes told her that he wanted to help her, but couldn't.

"Don't be stubborn Ronald," she knew she sounded like his mother but she didn't care. "You know as well as I do that outside of Draco he's our only hope. And with Draco's situation so precarious we won't be able to use his information much longer. We need Snape."

"No. We don't. We'll never need the likes of him 'Mione." Ron spat the words with a venom she had not expected.

"That attitude will lose you this war Ron Weasley," she told him sadly.

"It seems it has already lost me my wife," he replied sourly.

"I was never going to be your wife Ron, we both knew that," it was the first time she had vocalised what they had always known. They could not be happy together, they were too different.

"I didn't think I'd lose you to him though."

"To who?" Hermione was genuinely baffled, when had someone else come into the equation?

"Snape."

She would have laughed if his words had not brought with them images of a gaunt but brilliant man with cruel wit and long fingers.

"This isn't about our engagement or anything like that Ron. This is about someone's life- an innocent man's life and our chance to save it," she argued, trying to keep her composure in the face of her panic.

"And if I don't help?"

"I go alone and die with him if I have to," she replied, surprising even herself.

"Are you in love with him?"

"What? No, of course not. Merlin Ron, is it so hard to imagine compassion in other people for reasons other than sex?" She shook her head. This wasn't working. It couldn't work. She shouldn't' have come, she shouldn't have asked this of him.

He looked at her, contemplated the storm raging on her face and he knew. She did love him but she hadn't realised it yet. She couldn't see that in her own actions and words she was declaring to the world that she had chosen Severus Snape as her own and that she would do anything to protect him. Ron knew because that was how he felt about her, he could see the same symptoms, the same hopeless devotion in her eyes. It would take her longer to recognise it, and perhaps she would never fully reconcile herself with it, but she was in love. How could he not help her when he knew how she suffered? When he knew that he would go to the same lengths and more for her? He sighed in resignation. Harry would never forgive him.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked softly, not meeting her gaze.

She looked up, shocked. "I need you to come with me to the Ministry and get an injunction against the act based on the 1876 legislation which prevents prisoners being executed without trial."

He shook his head and she wondered if he had changed his mind. Instead, he frowned and said nothing for a moment.

"It won't do… Harry will use the Times of War clause and go through with it anyway. And besides, they can claim it isn't execution."

"Not lawfully," she protested heatedly. "Killing a man for no…"

"Law doesn't matter any more," he reminded her. "Right and wrong fell by the wayside long ago. This is about survival. If we want to keep Snape alive words and injunctions won't do us any good at all."

In that moment, Hermione Granger realised the man that Ronald Weasley had become and she was proud of him. She smiled internally but her frown did not move from her face. Professor Snape still needed her help.

"What do you suggest?" she asked.

"We gather Charlie and Bill and the others- as many as we can at this hour, and we stop Harry. Physically if we have to. We bring him back here, Shacklebolt too, and you can talk some sense into him." Ron nodded, satisfied with his idea and looked to Hermione for support.

"Harry is past listening to me," she told him. "I saw his eyes before he went in to see Professor Snape, Ron, he was out to kill."

"All the more reason to stop him. We know Harry, 'Mione, we've been friends since forever. He'll listen to us. He has to." He shrugged and grinned mirthlessly at her, "At least it'll buy us some time."

That she couldn't disagree with. Whether Harry listened to her or not once they got him back to Ron's was immaterial. What mattered was saving Severus Snape's not so innocent life. And doing it now.

"Will you floo Charlie or will I?" she asked by way of reply, and could tell from the twinkle in Ron's eye that he was excited at the idea of actually _doing_ something. She couldn't help but smile in response. She knew how he felt.


	8. Le cauchemar

**Le cauchemar**

**Disclaimer: As before.**

**Author's Notes: Home from college for Christmas and just found all of these on my old PC. Felt I should do them justice and finish. One/Two chapters left. Enjoy!**

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"Well Potter, Hermione tells me that you are here to lead me to my death," Severus said, using the girl's first name deliberately, knowing it would antagonise the young man who despite his mother's eyes was the image of his pathetic, lowlife father. "How very… is predictable the word?" He was all feigned nonchalance, a picture of calm despite the clock he could feel ticking the seconds of his life away inside him.

He was not ready to die, but there was no need for Potter to know that.

"Shut it Snape," Harry ordered, all commander in chief, all epic gladiator, all warrior without reason. Severus pitied the boy, briefly. He was so innocent in his incompetence. This was all Albus' fault. That stupid plan that he had _warned_ him would not work. He had argued with him, fought him, even **begged **him to reconsider, to think of another way. Not to leave it all in the hands of a teenage boy with a misdirected sense of right and wrong. A boy who had used the Cruciatus curse, a boy who had been marked from his birth as not only Voldemort's killer but his one true successor.

Yes, that was the truth neither Harry nor Voldemort knew. Not even Trelawney in her most psychic state, not Albus Dumbledore in all his wisdom. But Snape had seen the signs. From the moment he had met the boy he had deduced the same arrogance as in his father, the same courage as his mother, and something different, something darker… Severus had watched it grow, had seen how after each minor defeat of the Dark Lord, Potter's eyes had held a hardness that his friends refused to see. Hermione Granger in her naivety would never understand, Ronald Weasley in his stupidity would remain blind to it. In Harry Potter's eyes, Severus had seen triumph and a will to continue, to kill, to rule… And he had known. As in ancient times when the defeat of a Chieftain led to the promotion of his killer, as among wild animals, Potter would fulfil the Prophecy by defeating Voldemort, only to be enticed by the thrill, the power and the promises, and then he would choose to replace him.

"Hermione had no right coming here, telling you," Harry said, pacing, tearing Snape from his memories. "You don't deserve warning."

How utterly brainless was this boy, Snape wondered and took some solace in the fact. Riddle was insane, a lunatic, but at least he was a genius beneath it all. Potter had none of his substance. He would be easily defeated and replaced. Snape's money was on Lucius Malfoy.

"On the contrary Potter, don't you feel the warning adds an extra bite to the whole nasty business?" he questioned. "Surely now I can dread my death, count the minutes I have left alive?"

Potter seemed to consider this for a while, but he had never been one to admit a wrong. Like his father.

"Ron and Charlie will be here soon, and Shacklebolt will meet us with the Polyjuice outside the prison." Shacklebolt was still too much of a ninny to enter Azkaban, Severus noted.

"Excellent Potter," he replied blandly. "A formidable plan. Congratulations on devising such a brilliant scheme," he paused, his lip curling in a sneer that he was sure the boy would recognise from the classroom. '_Yes Potter, you've gotten it wrong again_,' he thought, '_Given me the upper hand even in death_.' "Oh, my mistake, this wasn't exactly your brainchild was it?"

He noted the tensing of the shoulders, the tightening of the fist around the wand, and he could hear the clock ticking his life away.

He wondered what Granger would do. Would she insist on a burial, or leave the undertakers to their own nefarious devices? Or perhaps they would allow him rot in open air, to be eaten by wild animals, infected with maggots and worms. Would she weep when she heard he had fallen? Cry for the lost cause with the black soul and the bleak past? Would she pity him?

Of course she would. With her Gryffindor heart and misguided beliefs she would sympathise and in her tears she would absolve herself of the part she had played in his death. Perhaps she would even wear black, a period of mourning quite appropriate for a man whose attire, whose own soul was as black as night and as consistent.

Yes, Hermione Granger would weep, Severus was sure of that as he sat before an enraged teenager with more power than sense.

A part of his mind - the part currently concentrating on a memory of a young woman glancing at him one last time, with eyes filled with compassion and pity and sadness - urged him to humour the boy. He could talk to Potter - like she had talked to him - and change something, some part of his mind. The girl had proven the power of persuasion, her words had been enough to leave him with this lingering sense of her, this yearning to please her, to act in a manner she would condone. It was disgusting and he would be damned if he would claim to understand it, but if it could save his life, stop Potter fulfilling a Prophecy that was far less promising than it seemed and allow him to get out of this godforsaken cell then it might be worth it.

"Listen to me Potter," he said, interjecting upon the boys poisonous thoughts, "You are not a killer, boy. You think you are, Albus allowed you to believe you were. But you're not. Your father wasn't, your mother wasn't and neither are you."

He could feel Potters anger growing, could feel his hand tightening around his wand, and time constricting upon his own heart. But he vowed to continue.

"Voldemort could win this war Potter. He could win and all that would be left would be the hollow remains of everyone you have ever known and loved. Spent, rotten, decomposing in the Empire he would build for himself. Albus knew that, feared that very fact. He knew you weren't a killer Potter, knew you didn't have it in you and so he did what he thought was best to make you one. He asked me to kill him - forced me to do so with that damned Unbreakable Vow." Even he heard his voice crack as he said it, and Potter's growing rage dissipated slightly at the vulnerability in his enemy's voice. "He was wrong Harry. He thought it would make you hate Voldemort even more, hate what the world had become, hate a future where Death Eaters could kill those you loved, hate everything the Dark stood for. But it didn't work, did it?"

Severus' voice was hoarse, unused to speaking so much. His soul was wrecked from such honesty and he put the onus instead on Potter, hoping the boy could divine the answer himself. For many moments there was silence, and Severus feared he had miscalculated, had signed a death warrant not only for himself, but for the whole world of light. He feared he had fuelled Potter's rage, spurred his downfall on. But the boy raised his eyes, and spoke, and Severus understood that the power he held over Potter was very different from the one Granger held over him, but could do similar good.

"I hated you instead," Potter said softly, his earlier anger still present, but overcome by this new understanding. "That's what 'Mione meant all along… when she said I was looking in the wrong place, that I was fighting the wrong evil. She meant you."

Severus nodded, wondering what good Granger had done even before coming to visit him. He reminded himself to thank her should he live past the morning.

"Yes Potter. Miss Granger is an incredibly intelligent young woman. She understands this better than you and I, I believe. Better even than Albus or Voldemort perhaps. She is of course, blinded by the unfortunate prejudices of the time, and thus is somewhat slow in reaching her conclusions, but I believe that along with the Weasley boy - frightfully dim most of the time, but a superb tactician - she holds the key to this war."

"And me? What do I hold the key to Snape? Voldemort chose me. Not Neville, not Ron, not 'Mione. He chose me before I was even old enough to speak. He killed my parents, Snape, thanks to information you provided for him. And now you sit here, and tell me that this is Hermione and Ron's war? That Dumbledore didn't know what he was doing? That you and 'Mione have some how figured this all out in the space of a few days? I don't believe it Snape. I won't. You are just the coward I always knew you were. Afraid to die Snape? Afraid there won't be any redemption for a murderer?"

"Aren't you afraid of the same thing Harry? How does Remus Lupin's blood feel on your hands?" Snape shot back, furious and frustrated. Why was this not working, when Grangers words had worked so easily on him?

"Don't you dare mention Remus. It's your fault he's dead Snape, yours!" Harry was livid, and if Severus was correct, close to tears. Perhaps this wasn't as futile as he had believed. He let the memory of Granger's eyes spur him on.

"As I have said Harry, you are not a killer. But Albus' death has affected you in ways few could have foreseen. No one blames you Harry, they understand. No one can place themselves in your position and say they would react differently. No one can feel what you are feeling right now and I am sorry. I am sorry I let him talk me into it Harry, I'm sorry I killed him. But you have to remember that it is Voldemort that Albus died fighting, not me. He never raised his wand to me. He trusted me. That trust was not misplaced, even if his judgement might have been. I'm Dumbledore's man to the end Harry, and so are you."

And he saw in Harry's eyes a change then, a softening perhaps, something at least, but before he could read it, the silence that had fallen was ripped apart as the door burst open, and in the doorway, wands raised, stood three Weasleys, Longbottom, Lovegood and, hair wild and eyes blazing, the ever glorious face of Hermione Granger.

"I'm sorry Harry," she said, and in the blink of an eye the future saviour of the wizarding world was lying motionless on the floor. Ron and Charlie ran to him, while the others just stared warily at Severus, whose own eyes were on the young woman approaching him with a smile on her face and solemn pride in her eyes. "We're getting you out of here Professor," she told him confidently. "Looks like we got here just in time."

Severus rolled his eyes at their brazenness, their awful timing. But he could not help the ghost of a smile that graced his features briefly at how innocent she was, even after raising her wand to her best friend. A true Gryffindor. As her wand easily undid the spells that bound him to the room - he wondered how she can gotten the incantations from the guard - he felt her eyes on him constantly despite her concentration. Her stare unnerved him.

"And where are you taking me Miss Granger?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"Home of course," she replied with a grin. He shuddered to think where that meant.

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